


just another case of friendly fire

by arexnna



Series: lost stars [25]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:29:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5132699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arexnna/pseuds/arexnna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“i shot you in the balls in a paintball match i’m so sorry oh my god" au</p>
            </blockquote>





	just another case of friendly fire

They’ve taken out three of them already – one from her, one from Nolan and another from Locksley.  _Three more left_ , she tells herself. Her team’s down to four, both Mulan and Elsa getting shot early on, courtesy of Merida which Mulan did _not_ take well.

Now – with Jones’ triumphant _‘I got Merida!’_ – all they have to do is take both Ruby and Graham out, and with four versus two, it’ll be an easy win.

And boy does Emma need to win this.

Last year would be the last time the 77 lost to _stupid Manhattan_ with their superiority complex and their Upper East Side ‘crimes’ (if you can even compare Mrs. Braddock’s poodle being stolen to Brooklyn’s robberies and thefts and murders – _not that murders are good_ , Emma clarifies)and if her team has to mutter those eight wretched words one more time, Emma will completely lose it.

So when she hears the soft squish of the sole of a shoe against the wet soil thanks to last night’s rain, she tightens her grip on the handle and readies her finger on the trigger.

And when the figure comes around the old water tank she crouches behind, they barely get to finish their _‘Oh, it’s—‘_ before Emma’s index finger twitches and she hears a _pap, pap_ go off from her barrel.

“Bloody _hell!”_

She freezes at that voice, because _no…_ Graham’s accent is as lilting as that… so that means…

“ _Fuck! Jones?”_

He’s doubled over by the time she realises, and when he tilts his head up, she can just see the annoyance in his eyes through the translucent plastic covering them. “ _Aye, ‘Jones’_ ,” he mimics, words tinged with irritation, showing her the blue band on his arm as if to prove it further.

“Why would you sneak around me like that! You know—“

_Pap, pap_.

She staggers back a bit, twisting her head around to see who’d shot her, only to see Ruby call out from Emma’s 2 o’clock, “It’s to two v two!”

“ _Seriously, Ruby?”_ Emma groans, as she looks down at her chest where two paint splatters lie just below her collar.

“All’s fair in love and war!”

She just scoffs at that, dropping her marker to just one hand before, “Damnit, okay let’s get out of the way,” she says, nodding towards where the rest (of the losers) are before heading that way herself, expecting him to follow.

But instead of hearing footsteps follow behind her, she hears, “Give me a moment, will ya, Swan?”

When she turns around, he’s still bent over with his elbows propped on his knees and his eyes squeezed shut. “Oh, _come on_ ,” Emma rolls her eyes, because being shot by paintball pellets can _not_ be as painful as he makes it out to seem – especially since he’s been shot by _real_ bullets before (though that’s not a thing she likes to remember). “Boohoo, you got shot by me – we can make all the friendly fire jokes later, but we can’t let David and Robin get distracted with us still on the field.”

He tilts his head up again, his eyes opened and his brows furrowed and he groans out, “You shot me.“

“ _Yes_ , I know – now, stop being a drama queen about it and let’s-“

“You shot me _in the balls_.”

_Oh_.

He finally pushes himself up, and just like he says, there’s two splatters of paint – one yellow and one orange – at his… ah, _groinal_ area and—

“ _Oh.”_

“Aye,” he says and she can already tell there’s a sarcastic smile behind that mask he wears. “So, either help me hop out of here, or leave me to recuperate on the ground right here.”

-/-

They hobble back to where the rest are with his arm around her shoulder and hers around his waist, to which both Elsa and Merida raise an eyebrow at before realising what had happened when their attentions are brought to his paint-covered crotch, and the two of them come hurrying over to help her out.

“What happened?” Merida asks, her accent thick and full of concern as she pulls Killian’s other arm around her shoulder after Elsa grabs his marker and mask to make it easier for him.

But Killian just grins, and withstanding the fact he just got shot in the balls, he’s taking this better than she’d expected. “Emma has impeccable aim,” he says, but there isn’t any heat behind it, instead he just grins at her and she can just _feel_ herself flush – whether out of embarrassment or attraction, she’s not too sure.

“Looks like your sergeant is out,” Lance mentions from their left, pointing his drink at the field and when Emma tilts her head, she sees David’s shoulders slouch as he makes his way out.

“It’s two to one now,” Merlin chimes in with that stupid grin of his and Emma just rolls her eyes.

“You underestimate Locksley,” Killian adds when they’ve settled him on the chair. He reaches to pull off his jersey, and Emma just freezes when she sees that stupid dri-fit of his cling to to his body, almost as though this is her first time seeing him wear it.

(Not that she doesn’t freeze momentarily every time she catches him on the way out of the gym with it sticking to his body, beads of sweat falling from his dishevelled hair with his towel slung over one shoulder while his bag hangs over the other.)

“And you underestimate Lucas,” Merida defends her teammate with a slight proprietary tone.

“Trust me,” he flashes her a grin, “I’ve made that mistake once – I’ll never doubt Ruby ever again.”

And there’s a story Emma would like to hear, she thinks when she finally pulls herself out of her thoughts.

“Looks like we’ll see who’s right,” she says watching the field, as Graham curses and follows David out of the field.

“One v one now, Swan – who’s your money on?”

-/-

Didn’t matter who her money was on, apparently. Ruby had nipped Robin at the hip when he couldn’t manage to hide himself behind the barrel completely, so either way – she’d lost.

There’s a clinking of metal against glass and Emma just groans at the speech she knows is coming, of which is further confirmed when she hears Ruby clear her throat.

It’s only when she twists herself on the barstool does she realise how packed the bar is, with officers and detectives from all over New York, from Bronx (eliminated in the quarters) and Queens (gone in the semis) and even Staten Island ( _did they even play?_ ), which makes their lost even more humiliating.

They were _this_ close to winning.

“Firstly, I’d like to thank everyone for making it out for our 6th annual NYPD paintball tournament,” Ruby calls and everyone in the bar follows after, “I’d also like to congratulate my teammates from the 26 for our third consecutive win,” she cheers and her fellow Manhattanites whoop and make other annoying sounds to rub in their win. “Oh! And I was told that the guys and gals from the 77th precinct have something to say!” Ruby feigns shock, and only grins at Emma when she rolls her eyes.

She _hates_ her.

(That’s not true.

Honestly, her and Ruby go way back. They’re friends, they meet up every few weekends, and they talk and they’re _friends_. But every year since 2009, for a couple of weeks in July, she _hates_ Ruby. They may be friends, but they’re both also extremely competitive, and whether or not a paintball tournament between precincts or just a game of Settlers of Catan, they take their shit seriously.

But once that’s over, they’re a-okay, and bitching about Patrice from PR again.)

“Sergeant Nolan?” Lucas turns towards David, who forces a smile on.

“My squad and I would…” he pauses, searching for words, gritting his teeth when he says, “ _like_ to say:”

He turns to the rest of them, and Emma watches as the rest of her team reluctantly abides, putting on their nicest faces for the crowd, only to find David’s eyes boring into hers when she won’t do the same.

And when she finally does, they all mutter in a grumbled unison:

“The 26 really _is_ New York’s finest.”

After Ruby and her team are satisfied, Emma turns back to nurse her drink, swirling the brown liquor in her glass, watching as it twirls when there’s a cough next to her.

“I must say, Swan,” Killian’s voice comes and when she tilts her head, she finds him still in that Nike shirt of his, with his soccer ( _‘Football, Swan,’_ he’d say) shorts with a little Juventus logo by his thigh, and _why_ hasn’t he changed yet – does he just do it to torment her? She raises her eyebrow to ask for him to go on, and he grins before saying, “This-“ he gestures at his privates, “isn’t quite how I imagined for you to be giving me blue balls.”

That earns him a huff of laughter and a smile, and screw his stupid face for looking so pleased at that.

She takes the beer he holds and takes a sip for herself before he can react to take it back and, “Since when do you drink beer?”

“I _don’t._ It was for – uh, my – uh-“

When it dawns upon her what he’s trying to say, her head drops to the counter, and she groans out a, ”First I shoot you in the balls, then we lose and now I’m drinking your junk-beer – could this day get any worse?”

“Come on,” he says, and pulls her hand with him as he moves (still slowly) towards the exit.

It’s cool outside, the night breeze brushing past her face and she shivers slightly. He seems to notice because he brushes his hand up and down her arm to warm her up and she send him an appreciative smile.

“Why’re you really so upset about this?”

She looks away when she says it, averting her eyes to anywhere that isn’t his, “You know how I am with competition.”

“But that’s not it, though.”

She bites at her lip considering whether or not to confide in him, but when she glances up to look at him, she knows she can trust him.

“I haven’t had much wins recently – with that drug bust leading nowhere, how that Evans kid walked away scotch free just because he’s a rich kid, how I couldn’t catch that fucker that shot yo- it’s just, I thought this win would make up for a shitty year.”

“And then _I_ shoot you and take us from four men to two – it just, it’d be nice to win.”

He stares at her a bit, his eyes search her face and he gives her a crooked smile, only one corner of his lips tilting up, “It wasn’t your fault that we lost – Ruby’s just an extremely good shot. It _is_ your fault that I may never have children, though,” he grins here and she can't help the laugh. “And those other things? We’re cops, Emma - there are good days and there are bad days. Yeah, you've had bad days, but what about when you talked that kid off from that ledge? Remember that psycho that attacked that boy? Or that druggie you managed to get help for?”

“And it wasn't your fault I got shot either - I should've-”

“I was supposed to have your back - I was too distracted and I should've listened to you when you told me to take a step back and it almost got you killed,” she interrupts and she can hear her voice cracking. “I was stubborn and-”

“Love, you're always stubborn,” he cuts in and she rolls her eyes. “And if it makes you feel better, you did win today.”

She raises her brow.

“You got highest kills this tournament,” he grins.

“I did, huh?” she says, but Emma can just feel a smile coming on.

“Yup,” he says, “Beat Ruby by one.”

“Was that ‘one’ your balls?”

Killian nods. “Worth it, if it means you win,” he grins.

Her smile comes and she doesn't bother to hide it. “Thank you, Killian,” she says just above a whisper.

There's something about her gratitude that makes him flustered, even in the streetlights she can see how his ears tinge with pink, catches how his hand moves up to scratch at his neck.

“I've been meaning to, uh-”

She doesn't let him finish his sentence, pushing herself up to her toes and leaning in to press her lips to his. It takes a second for him to react, a second for her worries that she'd made a mistake to vanish, a second for him to kiss back.

Her tongue presses against the seam of his lips and he opens his mouth for her, his sliding against hers as his hands settle against her waist, riding up the hem of her shirt and moving up her back as hers settle at the nape of his neck, his soft hair threading between her fingers.

She breaks from his lips to trail her kisses down from his jaw to his neck, biting before laving at the crook between his neck and shoulder when he hisses.

“ _Swan,_ ” he groans, but she keeps kissing him until he really pulls back, and suddenly dread fills her stomach when she thinks he’s regretting the whole thing.

“Oh, fuck – you didn’t – _oh God,_ you didn’t, I took it too far didn’t—“ But he presses a finger to her lip and she kind of just shuts up.

“I,” he begins to explain, the look on his face telling her he’s finding the words, “I physically _can’t_ kiss you any further – trust me, I really do want to but,” he pauses, his face cringing when he says, “My situation –“ he looks down, “- unfortunately won’t allow it.”

“Oh!”

He steps back as he averts his eyes as he nods, now even his cheeks are pink (and his lips are swollen, but she suspects that has more to do with the making out and what not), flushing with embarrassment.

She glances down and catches the tent in his shorts that he shifts awkwardly trying to hide, and apparently, not passing through a filter, she says, “Do you want me to take care of that?” before realising exactly how it sounds like.

“I mean—“

He holds up his finger and stops her, “Just give me a moment to think of old people eating alone and that story about Christian the lion and I’ll be good as new.”

“Do you want me to just wait here, or go in or-?”

“Yeah, your voice isn’t helping,” he says with his hands on his hips and his eyes squeezed shut as he faces away from her.

She’s about to say she’s sorry before excusing herself, but – “ _Wait_ , does my _voice_ turn you on?”

He flushes even more if possible, especially when he sees the mixture of smugness and disbelief on her face, and _she_ thought she couldn’t catch a break.

“Swan…” he says and she’s never heard him sound so deflated.

“Okay, okay – I’m sorry – I’ll just –“ she jerks her head at the door, and he nods rapidly, though never once daring to look at her as she heads back in.

She heads straight back for the bar the moment she gets inside, getting herself a glass of rum. She has to bite down on her lower lip to stop herself from smiling and that’s exactly how Ruby finds her – nursing a drink and hopelessly trying to hide a smile.

“Seriously?” she says as she approaches, “Sex in an alley for your first time? Classy, Emma, classy.”

“We didn’t.”

“You’re telling me you guys just frenched in an alley for 15 minutes?”

“No one uses that word anymore – and _yes_ , we just _made out_ ,” she confesses, hating how she sounds so much like a teenager. “He, uh- I think it might be a _little_ too painful for him.”

Ruby’s face is filled with pure joy, “You’re telling me that you gave the blue balls you _already_ gave him, _more_ blue balls?”

“Congratulations, by the way,” Emma says after a moment passes, “You deserved the win.”

“Took you a lot faster to get over this one than last year,” Ruby smiles.

“Yeah, well-“ she starts but when she hears the door reopen and sees Killian walk in with the dopiest smile on his face, Emma grins and says, “I guess I won in other ways.”

-/-

(Next year, they eliminate the 26th precinct in the semi-finals.

They play a team from The Bronx (the same team that took out 94 in the semis, so feeling the need to avenge their fellow cops from their very own Brooklyn,) they beat them with three men still standing – all of which, women. It’s Elsa who takes out their last man, and Emma doesn’t hold back in hugs and kisses and praises and basically any bit of affection and appreciation she can muster.

Elsa makes the speech, having been the last kill as tradition states, but boy is the woman far too nice to _really_ rub it in all their faces.

It doesn’t quite matter though, either way, she gets to hear _‘The 77 really is New York’s finest,’_ being murmured from all around the bar, and that’s far better than any good _in-your-face_ speech.’

Mulan and David are the ones to hold up the trophy and place it in the cabinet, and while it is the size of a mug and is made of cheap plastic, it doesn’t stop the grin on her face.

“We did it, love,” Killian smiles triumphantly, squeezing her hand in his as they lean against his desk.

She’s always been conscious with the whole PDA thing, _especially_ at the workplace, and he knows it, so he settles with just holding her hand when she _knows_ he’d be far more affectionate if they were at either one of their places.

So she kisses him. He doesn’t react at first, but when he does that’s when she pulls away. (She still really hates PDA.)

She watches as he licks at his lips and hears Robin _whoop_ in the background, and she doesn’t think she’s seen him more gleeful. He places his arm around her waist and pulls her closer, her head laying against his shoulder as he presses a kiss to her hair.

“That sorry excuse of a trophy looks so much better here than it ever would in Manhattan,” he comments and she just buries her laugh in his chest.

But he’s right. It does.)

( _Suck on that, Ruby_.)


End file.
